X
by blackwolfrun
Summary: Different story line following an OC mutant. Loosely adapted around the movies. A 20-year-old drifter, Adrian, meets a man called Erik Lensherr on the quest to discover his past. But there's something about Erik that Adrian doesn't trust. He's holding back information from him: about the mutant world, his origin, and a brother named Logan he doesn't know to exist.


X

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary in a neighborhood suburb just outside of Portland, Maine. It was an early Thursday morning and overcast in the sky hid the sun from its citizens, refusing to bring any wakefulness to the workers preparing for their daily commute.

A woman sipping a steaming mug of coffee in her kitchen window waved to her neighbor across the street as he was climbing into his sedan. Returning the friendly hello, he smiled, waved and backed out of the drive way and set off down the street. Immediately, the woman's friendly tone turned to grimace as she turned the attention from her window to her son. Her stomach was churning as she watched the boy happily eat his cereal. No older than eight, he was an endearing child with amber eyes, messy black hair, and sandy skin. Sensing his mother's turmoil, he looked up from his bowl and twisted his forehead in confusion.

"What's wrong mom?" He chirped.

Smiling weakly she shook off any noticeable worry in her expression.

"Nothing baby. Eat up."

But everything was wrong. With at least thirty voicemails sitting in her phone's inbox and her file cabinet overflowing with suspicious notices and threats, she feared for her life and her child's. While appearing extraordinarily ordinary from an outside perspective, nothing was ordinary about the lives of the mother and boy in the green house on the corner of Robin Lane.

For the past eight years they had lived in and out of apartments and motels across the eastern United States' coast. Finally deciding to settle and try and live a normal life as much as possible, it was a decision she had began to regret. Whoever she was running from, had found her and were minutes away from making their entrance.

A soft rumble reached her ears and she whirled back to her window, just in time to see several black SUVs glide up in front of her house. Without any sense of hurry two men in suits waltzed towards the door.

Their presence sent her into a frenzy. She bolted from the window, seized her son around his small arm, and yanked him from the table. She rushed towards the staircase, ignoring his protests. As she reached the top of the steps, there was a knock at the door she also ignored. Fleeing into her bedroom, she stopped and clutched her son around the shoulders, kneeling in front of him.

"Mommy what's going on?" He was trembling and his amber eyes began to well up with tears.

"Adrian. You need to listen to me. You need to go in my closet and not make a sound. Just like hide and seek, kay? Like how we play—like how we play all the time."

"Why?"

"Because. There are bad men at the door. They want to find us, but we cannot let them. Okay? We need to win the game and be as quiet as possible."

There was an uncertainty in her voice that they were not going to win this game. But Adrian listened to his mother and nodded in agreement. Before she steered him towards the closet door, she wrapped her arms around his little body and began to choke on rising sobs in her throat.

"Mommy loves you. I love you Adrian. Pl—please never forget," she whispered.

She then shakily removed a necklace around her neck and placed it in his hand, wrapping his petite fingers around it.

The men outside the door were not amused by the lack of attention they were receiving. Knocking once was enough.

"We'll need to go in. By force," one of them murmured into a cell phone.

With that single command, a squad of armed men imitating officers leapt from the cars, and swiftly arrived at the door, kicking it down with a crash. Adrian's mother heard this, and looked towards the bedroom door, her heart hammering in her chest. She quickly acted out her plan. Her child was now in the closet, peering in the dark through the crack of the door's entrance. She backed towards the wall, bracing herself, and tried to gather all the strength she had. Breathing deeply, she shut her eyes and waited for her guests.

Adrian's little heart mimicked his mothers. Not understanding what exactly was happening, he still was old enough to understand the seriousness of his mother's visible fear. He had seen her uneasy before, but never to this extent. Who were these men, and what did they want? Why had they shaken his mother, the strongest person he's ever known?

Guns raised, the men stormed the house, over turning every piece of furniture in their path. The men in suits traveled about the house idly, inspecting picture frames on the mantle, and turning over pieces of paper on the counters.

"They're upstairs," called one of the men with a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

Stampeding towards the bedroom door, the men flung it open and met Adrian's mother with their barrels pointed towards her.

"Where is he?" One of them shouted.

"You—can't—have him." Her voice now shook with rage. Her teeth bearing.

"Melissa, please," snorted one of the suited men.

He strolled towards her past the officers, removing his sunglasses.

"We WILL take him whether you consent or not. Let's make this as easy as possible for everyone involved. Or, you will suffer," he smiled, looking much more like a threatening criminal than an authority figure.

"No." She snarled.

The ratty man rolled his eyes sighing. He threw his arm up lazily towards Melissa and turned back towards the door.

"Kill her. The kid's in the closet."

"NO!" Cried Melissa.

She hurled in front of the wardrobe, making every last ditch effort to save her son's life. What happened next was witnessed by Adrian and occurred without any sense of remorse. One of the officers seized Melissa by the back of her neck and tossed her face first into the floor. Without hesitation, he aimed his weapon at the back of her head and shot her point blank. She was dead.

Over the sound of the shot, no one heard Adrian yelp with terror, but they tossed the closet door open regardless. Adrian was dragged out of hiding by his waist and hoisted up on one of the men's shoulders. He kicked and screamed as loud as he could, hoping she would stir, not taking his eyes off of her lifeless body. His insides ached. He felt like his chest had been spread open, and shock exploded through him. Her eyes were staring blankly towards the door; blood was collecting into a puddle under her white, beautiful, face.

"No! Mama! Mama no!" Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he used all of his energy to shriek and kick his way out of his captor's arms.

It was useless. He was hauled from his home and thrown into the vehicle, his mother to be disposed of. All innocence he once had was lost.

12 Years Later

Amidst the countryside of southern Pennsylvania, sat a diner that certainly did not appeal to the tourists that passed through to witness east coast charm and experience the beaches. But to a poor passerby, it was the perfect place to stop and grab a meal.

"More coffee?"

The waitresses' question startled her customer out of his daydream. He was watching cars pass on the highway out the side window next to his booth, wondering who was in them and where they were going. Probably to New York, or even further north to Canada. Most likely couples on their honeymoon, or senseless teenage girls that fanaticized about Broadway and were naïve enough to think they'd become famous one way or another. He blinked his amber eyes off of the road and drearily answered.

"Uh, no, no. Thanks," he said.

"Are you sure?" The waitress asked brightly.

She was a pretty girl, a little average, but she had cute freckles across her nose and cheeks, her strawberry blonde hair tied up in a bun.

"You look like you kinda need it," she giggled nervously.

Adrian pulled the corners of his mouth into a small grin, faking his sincerity.

"Yeah, alright. Sure."

"I'll put a fresh pot on."

She bounced away cheerily; clearly happy she'd be able to wait on (more importantly try to flirt) with her young male customer further.

She could hardly be blamed, however. 20-year-old Adrian was oblivious to his physical attributes, believing the girls who chattered with him were bored at work, or excused it was friendliness. His appearance tended to bring unwanted attention when he wished to be alone with his thoughts. His russet skin was smooth except for a consistent five o' clock shadow on his sharp jawline. His black hair tended to be messy, but it settled into tufts in all the right places. But what drove the young girls (and sometimes middle aged women) to become bothersome were his almond shaped eyes that held expressive tawny irises; gold flecks around the edges fading into bright brown in the center. They were piercing, but not startling. They held a certain confidence, and gave the impression he had witnessed a lot throughout his young life.

The smitten waitress returned with a pot of coffee and poured Adrian a fresh cup.

"You live around here?" She asked hopefully, bouncing on her toes.

"Oh. No," he replied, still indolent from his dreaming.

"I see," she faltered and tugged at her apron. "You just passing through then?"

Adrian took a drink from his mug. The coffee was piping hot. He shrugged and swallowed, wincing.

"I guess you could say that."

"Are you a tourist?" She asked.

"Not exactly."

The girl frowned.

"What are you then?"

Adrian smiled apologetically, gathering his leather jacket and rucksack. It was time to leave; too many questions.

"Just an ordinary guy scared to settle," he said, giving her a flash of his white teeth.

He slid out of the booth, passed her a twenty-dollar bill for his tab, and glided towards the exit. Saying he was ordinary was one of biggest lies Adrian had ever told. His shoes crunched on the gravel as he walked across the parking lot. He began to realize as he strode the server was being more than a little friendly. He scoffed, thinking of how idiotic the waitress was, attempting to bide his attention. Her flirtatious laughs would soon turn to screams of terror if she saw another element he held.

Adrian was a weapon in disguise. A monster. Dangerous. He was stealthy. He could move as silent as a panther and strike as fast as a cobra. He contained strength and coordination that would put an assassin to shame. His senses were heightened past an average human's ability. More importantly, he possessed the power to slice through a car like it was butter on a platter. Adrian was a mutant.

Reaching his motorcycle, he slipped the key into the ignition, questioning whether the bike would give him trouble after he fired it up. It had been unreliable the past few days, randomly dying after being driven for an hour or two. Adrian would have to take it to a shop in a matter of time. This would require for him to enter a more populated area, something he avoided whenever possible. Mutants were unwelcome everywhere across the country. A stigma humans held against them had driven most of the abnormal out of major cities. Laws were granted allowing businesses to refuse service and mutants had to be registered to a database and carry identification. This is something Adrian had failed to do.

Already banned from human normalcy, he also felt exiled from the mutant community because of events that had occurred previously. His past was a blur, but he sensed something had happened. Something bad. He was scared of what would happen if his identity was revealed, so he disconnected from the mutant world and tried to come across as a lonesome human. He barely understood what happened in both societies, so he preferred to avoid any interaction. A wall had built around him, and it would take extremities to break it down.

The black sport bike roared to life and Adrian set off down the highway. He was thinking of heading north with the hope he could find somewhere secluded enough to settle. He would stay at fleabag motels until he found a fit; relying on money that originated in an account he had no idea about. A flirtatious bank teller delivered him a statement when he cashed a check he had earned from a factory job when he was eighteen. The account held 200,000 dollars unbeknownst to him. He had no clue who had left him that amount of money or what it was to be used for. So resisted the urge to spend it and vowed he'd establish a life eventually. His goal was harder to achieve than he expected, considering he had to be cautious no matter where he went.

Sure enough, an hour into his travels, Adrian's bike began to deteriorate and splutter to the point where he had to pull aside in an intersection. It failed to restart.

"Stupid piece of shit," he muttered under his breath. He glanced around, searching for his next route.

He would have to push it to a shop. Thankfully he was already on the edge of a small city and could stop and get it fixed there. His heart sank a little when he entered the downtown area. He was not in the most utopic region. As Adrian walked observing his surroundings, he nearly tripped on a man passed out against the curb. A lot of businesses were abandoned. The streets were littered and several men were huddled together on a corner, shouting and jabbing at one another. It had been a while since he'd have to deal with humans, but it was necessary. This bike was his only way of transportation unless he wanted to walk great distances.

He rounded the corner and saw a sign displayed high on a pole that read "T&T: Trucks and Trikes". It had to be the services he needed. He parked his bike in front of the entrance and hesitated as he gripped the door handle. A sign was taped on the inside of the glass: "We Reserve the Right to Refuse Mutants". Adrian's stomach lurched. It's just what he had expected. He took a deep breath and stepped inside, the bells jingled at his arrival. A portly looking man was standing behind the counter, counting the bills in the register. His baldhead glanced up quickly but then returned to the tender.

"Can I help ya with?" He grunted.

"I have a bike in the parking lot. It's dead," stated Adrian.

The man pointed towards the door, still focused on the bills.

"That black crotch rocket out there?"

"Yeah."

The man clicked the register shut and leaned on the counter. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and sighed.

"Can I see some identification?"

Adrian paused. He reached for his wallet as he approached the counter. He begged the employee in his head to not ask him if he were a mutant. He continued to plead as the stout man squinted at his license and then back to Adrian's face several times, clearly suspicious.

"It doesn't got a yes or no checked whether you're mutant or not."

"I never noticed," said Adrian, holding his gaze into the porky man's eyes assuredly.

The cashier peered at him and just as he opened his mouth to speak the door jingled. Three men entered. They were all wearing suits and ties and appeared of great importance, carrying briefcases and weapon belts around their waists. Adrian sensed immediately that they were not just typical businessmen. The back of his neck prickled and the hairs on his arms rose. Despite believing these men were about to cause trouble, he showed no signs of being alarmed, and turned to continue his business with the fat shopkeeper.

"Think you can take a look at it?" Asked Adrian coolly.

The shopkeeper blinked at Adrian refocusing, and handed back his license.

"Sure, sure. I'll grab Jeremy. He is better with these bikes than me." And he set off to the back room behind the counter.

Adrian took a deep breath and turned, facing the men who had just arrived. They stood firmly in front of him, their gazes hidden behind sunglasses. He ignored them and took a seat next to the door casually.

"Nice bike you got out there," said one of the men.

Adrian muttered thanks and leaned back in his chair. He did not want to converse with these strangers.

"Where'd you purchase it from?" Asked another.

Adrian looked up and noticed they all were now standing in front of him. An instinctive warning growl began to grumble in his chest, but he suppressed it.

"A dealer far from here," he coughed.

They did not respond, but remained standing ominously in front of him. Adrian did not like how this was going. He wished he never set foot in this town. Becoming more annoyed than threatened, Adrian remained relaxed in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Can I help you with something?" He snapped.

"Maybe you can," said one of the men, a sneer drawing across his face.

The third of the men stepped forward, pulling a sheet of paper from his briefcase.

"Know this fugitive?"

On it was a mug shot of an older looking gentleman. His gray hair was tidy, and his blue eyes twinkled in a squint off the page. A pleased smirk was on his lips. Adrian had never seen this person, but what he understood was the giant "M" stamped in crimson ink above his picture. This man was a wanted mutant.

"Nope never seen him," Adrian stated very matter-of-factly.

He glanced towards the door behind the counter. The chubby shopkeeper in the back would be in for a rude awakening.

The men exchanged looks.

"You're lying, mutant," snarled the man holding the mug shot.

"Would you fancy to prove that, gentlemen?" Mocked Adrian. "Because we can take this conversation outside if you'd like."

In an identical rapid motion the three men in suits drew out their handguns, pointing them directly into Adrian's face. He raised his hands in front of his chest without objection.

"Out. Outside," barked one of the men.

Adrian sighed and abided, the men backed up to his movement and he turned and stepped out the door and into the parking lot. There was not another being in sight. The city had suddenly become a ghost town. It was incredibly unnerving. They rounded the corner and abruptly stopped.

"Who are you?" One of them barked, gun still raised at Adrian's back.

"Adrian Kane."

"Where's your mutant identification?"

"I don't have one," Adrian said impatiently through bared teeth, his hands still in up the air.

Adrian suddenly felt his legs being frisked by one of the men. He felt an anger surge through his muscles and his heart began to race. He didn't want to have to harm anyone, but he needed to get out of this compromising situation. These men knew something about him. How did they even know he was a mutant? Have they been following him? He didn't even want these questions answered; he just wanted to be left alone. All he wanted was his bike to be fixed and to find a life without the worry of discriminatory mutant laws.

The man's hands slipped down to Adrian's calf, and he realized this was now or never. With a single whirl, Adrian whipped back facing the man and roundhouse kicked him directly in the face.

The man was pitched backwards, blood spurting from his nose. In a matter of seconds, Adrian leapt over the incapacitated man's body and darted towards his enemies. The suited gents had hardly any time to react; Adrian was as quick as a feline. They groped for their guns and only one of them was successful at retrieving it; the other was already tossed across the parking lot with a swift blow at the hands of Adrian. A single shot escaped the barrel but it was nowhere near hitting its intended target.

Subconsciously, Adrian finally showed entirely what he was capable of. He flung his fist forward, his body coiled. He was not intending to throw a punch. Instead, he was nearly a foot away from his opponent when three, long, thin, blades gleaming like katanas jetted out from in between his knuckles. They were directly at eye level with the man, nearly grazing his face.

"Drop it," spat Adrian venomously.

The gun fell to the ground.

"If you and your friends want to keep your heads, I suggest you leave and never follow me again," he demanded.

Adrian was completely unaware that the man he had kicked first had regained consciousness behind him. He had rolled over on his stomach and was now sprawled out, blood pouring from his nose, and reaching for the pistol that had been ejected from its holster during the attack. He retrieved it, and was now aiming straight at Adrian's back. His fingers were about to squeeze the trigger, when suddenly, a metal fence post soared through the air above them like a missile and impaled him directly through the arm with a crunch.

The man dropped the gun and began howling in agony.

Adrian spun around away from his threat; his wrath soon turned to confusion.

"What the hell?" He mouthed.

Two other metal objects were now airborne shooting towards the remaining men. Before they even realized, the posts impaled them through their midsections in a matter of seconds, slaying them.

Adrian panicked, but was too confused to run. He whirled about searching for any other signs of assailants. There was no one. He had not seen where the stakes were coming from. He began to believe he was causing this power. He stared at his hands, mouth ajar. Was this another quality he possessed? He hadn't meant to kill them!

The man whose arm was now severed was still wailing on the ground, his body contorting in pain. Adrian gaped at him. What was he supposed to do? Should he make a run for it? He glanced towards his broken motorcycle. Should he help the person who had just tried to kill him? He stood, frozen in the parking lot, searching his mind for any idea, when unexpectedly a black sedan with tinted windows purred down the street. It slowed and pulled into the lot where he was standing, bodies strewn around him. Adrian began to dread what was going to happen next. Who was in that car? More suited men that came for back up?

He bolted for his motorcycle, when suddenly the back seat window of the sedan slowly rolled down. Adrian heard a deep voice speak behind him.

"No need to run son," hummed the voice behind him. "Do not be alarmed."

Adrian stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to face the voice and saw an older gentleman climb out of the car.

"I didn't do this," Adrian called, his voice cracking from anxiety.

The man strolled toward him slowly, grinning humbly.

"Of course you didn't," he chuckled. "I did."

Adrian gawked at him.

"What?" He asked breathless, unsure if he had heard the man right.

The man's blue eyes twinkled; he looked incredibly calm and amused. He slowly removed his bowler from atop of his head, exposing his tamed gray hair. Adrian stared. The man was the mug shot he was just shown minutes ago. He was sure of it.

The older gentleman appeared harmless, despite the warning on the flyer. He stood in front of Adrian, wearing a long coat, fancy dress pants and shoes. He had a kind smile, and bright glimmering blue eyes. He continued to grin down at Adrian in an almost impressed way, as if he had been expecting to meet him.

"My name is Erik Lensherr," addressed the man kindly. "And I've come to help you, brother."


End file.
